


wet

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Flirting, Innuendo, Riverrun, Unresolved Sexual Tension, jaime why, sex puns, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 18:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: on the third day, it rains.





	wet

**Author's Note:**

> written 03 October 2019.

Their third day together, it rains. The clouds gather and darken and the sky breaks open with such force that even the dense leaves above can’t hold it back.

They walk in boots that squish and squelch with every step, over mud and sodden leaves, and the rope around his hands is heavy, itchy, chafing.

Rain is dripping down the back of his collar, a shivery itchy feeling. He stops. “This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t care what you think. Keep walking.”

“I can’t see two feet in front of my face, I’m soaked through my clothes, and you—” He turns to see her and his tongue dries in his mouth.

His first thought is that he’s never seen anyone so ugly.

Next is the realization that his body doesn’t care.

Her hair is plastered to her face, her freckled cheeks are pink with cold, her mouth is round and soft and slightly parted, as she frowns at him. Drops of water hang off her eyelashes, her chin, the tip of her nose; she blinks and they run down.

Below the neck is even worse. Her mannish body is still evident — broad shoulders, muscled arms and hands and wrists — but now there is the hint of breasts, the gentle sway of her waist, curving out over hips he could so easily grip while she rides him and her thighs — oh he could fall asleep and dream between those thighs, so long and round and firm.

His own trousers are clinging to his body like a second skin. There’s no way she could ignore how he’s hardening, just looking at her.

And he wants to keep looking at her. She’s stuttering now, saying something about finding a spot to wait out the storm, needing dry wood for a fire, they need to be careful of foot-rot — it doesn’t matter what she says. He knows _heat_ on a woman.

He sees her shift her weight, sees her bite her lip.

She really is blushing.

He smiles. “Fire, you said? Marvelous idea. We can take off our clothes. Find something else to do while they dry.”

“You’ll keep your clothes on, Kingslayer.”

“Whatever you wish, my lady. But you might want to strip out of yours, regardless. I can see from your face that you’re already wet.”


End file.
